


Where Is My Mind?

by alxmariejackles



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst, Blood, Concerned Ian, Domestic Fluff, Drugs, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff, Graphic Description, Hallucinations, Happy Ending, Hurt Mickey, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Mild Smut, Psychological Torture, Psychosis, Sad, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sex, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Violence, Weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 00:10:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2752304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alxmariejackles/pseuds/alxmariejackles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Alternate Universe in which Mickey deals with mental illness, instead of Ian (hence AU). This work is to show how Mickey's mental illness affects him and the people around him. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a multi-chapter fanfic, and I will be posting new chapters Wednesdays and Saturdays (because chapters are fairly short). Feel free to message and follow me on Tumblr! My username is the same as shown here, alxmariejackles, and it would make me absolutely ecstatic to hear from you guys, and I'm always open to talking! Enjoy :D!
> 
> DISCLAIMER!!!  
> ~~~~~~~~~~~  
> THIS IS NOT A HAPPY STORY. Please use your better judgement, and if you feel you cannot read this, then it is okay not to. Read the tags above, because there are a lot of negative themes associated with this story. I have not experienced the things written in my story, nor have I been around anyone who experiences these things, everything is based solely on research. And mistakes, misrepresentations, or misconceptions are not meant to offend or insult anyone, they are only to be blamed on my own ignorance on these subjects.

"Don't," I spoke with extreme difficulty, each breath came out in wheezing gasps as my throat began to close. Tears pricked at my eyes but I couldn't fail now, I had to let him know I didn't care, I told him I would not run after him. Hell, I'm still trying to prove to my own father I don't care, and that made me even more enraged.

"Don't what?" he pushed, inching out the door, getting further, further away, creating more and more empty space between us. I shook my head and urgency arose in the pit of my stomach, say something you fucking idiot!

"Just-" I pursed my lips. Fuck. The look on Ian's face was what truly destroyed me, a look of anger and . . . disappointment. I felt crushed and stupid, like a teenage girl who just got ditched by her date at prom, god this is pathetic. _You're pathetic._ Ian looked down at his shoes and shook his head, turned around, and was gone. Just gone. My heart sank and I crumpled onto my bed, the heels of my hands pressed into my eyes as I cried. I'm actually crying over a boy. Mickey Milkovich isn't supposed to have emotions, and even after we've been through so much, a part of me still says not to go after him. That it's better this way.

"Really?" the familiar voice of Mandy echoed from the threshold, "that's all you have to say? You're a fucking pussy," she scoffed. Stop. Stop. Stop. _Pussy._ My fingers shook as I fumbled through the cigarette carton on my nightstand, picking one up and lighting it as I pinched it between my lips. Giggles and laughter erupted from my pain, and I was alone.

I sat the next morning at our shitty dining table, while Mandy cooked the entire family breakfast. Terry and my other brothers were passed out drunk and shitfaced, and I would've joined too, but I was just too heartbroken and grieving. Mandy hummed a tune mom used to sing when Terry wasn't around. Mom wasn't always nice, but she had her moments. I stared down at my fork, examining every single prong at the top and the chipped metal. Stab. I looked back and forth between the fork and my arm, running my fingers along the soft, thin skin on the inside of my arm, back to the fork. _Do it._ A sudden want came over me, the urge to see crimson blood well up around the prongs soon to be embedded into the flesh of my arm. Maybe because I knew I was worthless, and I wanted to punish myself as my father always did. Or maybe I thought if I just let some of the bad blood free. . .

Almost robotically, I wrapped my fist around the handle of the fork, bringing it into my lap and turning the inside of my forearm towards the fork. _Drive it in. Drive it deep. Bleed!_ Mandy whipped around with a plate stacked high with pancakes, and my head sprung up. Concealing the fork beneath the table, I looked up at her, searching her eyes to see if she saw. If she saw how weak I truly was. She turned her head, and once she made eye contact, I looked away. If I looked at her, she'll look into my eyes and know. She'll know everything. She can probably read my thoughts. Cocking her head and putting her hands on her hips, she continued to look at me as her brows knitted together. I waited for her to turn back around so I could hurry and put the fork back before she noticed its disappearance. But she didn't. fucking. turn. around!

"Stop looking at me," I growled out from gritted teeth, staring at a door in the hallway.

Rolling her eyes, she replied, "god, who pissed in your cereal this morning?"

When she finally turned around, my hand came back up, fork gripped tight as I jammed it into the stack of pancakes and put a few onto my plate. When Mandy spun back around with a platter full of sausages, I attempted to occupy myself to avoid her suspicions. I reached out to grab the coffee pot sitting in the middle of the table, only for her to slam the plate she was carrying down onto the table and slap my hand away. I scowled and sunk back down in my chair, having already drained two cups of coffee and still feeling like morning shit.

"Oh, no. No more coffee for you. You look like a dead man walking." She snatched the glass pot off the table and put it back onto the counter. Mandy pulled a chair out across from me and began to chow down on her food. I just sat there. I wasn't hungry, so why did I feel so hollow inside? A hung over Iggy and Tony stumbled over and threw themselves down on chairs positioned on ether side of me. Tony began taking pancakes from my plate, completely oblivious to the stack on the table. I stood, shoving my chair back and turning out of the kitchen.

"The hell are you going?" Mandy yelled behind me, to which a still rising Joey winced and emitted a guttural groan from the couch at the shouting.

"Fuck off!" I bellowed back. I grabbed my jacket, boots, and made sure I had a cigarette before ripping open the front door. A freezing gust of wind blew, and gnawed at any exposed flesh. Yanking on my ski hat, I stomped across the door frame and slammed the door to such a violent degree, the door continued to shake even after I bounded down the steps of my front porch.


	2. Chapter 2

I paced up and down the street a couple times, taking long drags of my cigarette to warm my cold lungs and calm my raging nerves. Curtains parted on some of the houses alongside the street, faces peering out wondering what the fuck I was doing. I glared back and flipped them off, which made the occupants shrink back into the darkness of their homes. _They're watching you. Watch your back._ They're gonna tell everyone all about you. I breathed in more, but barely feeling any smoke, I looked at the end of my cigarette, now smokes down to the butt. Fuck this. I fling the butt onto the road and strode over to The Alibi.

The small bell overhead ringed as I hauled open the door, hurrying into the warmth of the bar, still shaking from the cold air from outside. Ripping off my hat as I took a seat at the end of the counter, I yelled over at Kevin requesting a beer. A second later he came over and expertly popped the cap off on the side of the counter. He always was a show off.

"Someone givin' you shit again?" Kevin grinned, and I rolled my eyes.

"Can't I just come in to have a drink?" I snarled.

Kevin huffed out a laugh, "if your life's that simple."

I slowly squeezed my eyes shut and brought the bottle up to my chapped lips. My life ain't fuckin' simple. Never has. Never will. Fuck, I wish it was. I sat there in silence, not bothering to participate with the other men arguing against Frank over some dumb ass scam. Not bothering to look over towards Svetlana when she comes down every now and then to take up another old greasy pig to blow. My eyes never left the bottle of vodka on the counter behind Kevin.

"Yo! Mick!" Kevin yelled and waved his hands in front of my face, ripping me away from my thoughts. "God man what're trying to do? Stare a hole in the wall?"

I seethed and took another sip of beer, welcoming the familiar burn as the alcohol ran down my throat. _What's wrong with you?_

"I don't know," I muttered.

"What?" Kevin questioned in confusion.

When my mistake dawned on me, my brain scrambled to find a subject to cover my error. And of course it had to be fucking Ian Gallagher.

"Have you seen Gallagher lately?"

"Lip?"

"No. The redhead."

"Wha? He owe you money or somethin'?"

"Come on man you seen him or what?" I pressured on. _He's probably dead in a ditch._ My face paled. Wait, no, I don't have feelings. I tell myself again and again I don't care, I don't care, but urgency still rose within me, and fear began to take over. "Is he back form the Army? The hell is he?"

Kevin put his hands up, "chill man he works at a club now."

What? When did he get back? Anger boiled inside of me now, and it felt comforting experiencing an emotion I was so used to. He was back, and he didn't even tell me? I suffered for months and he didn't even tell me? Maybe he was gone for only two fucking weeks! I wouldn't have even known 'cause no one ever fucking tells me anything!

"What's the name?"

"Fairytale."

"You fuckin' with me? What kind of gay ass name is that?" Kevin just shrugged and produced a paper and pen from under the counter, beginning to scribble something down. Handing the paper off to me, I stared down at the address and scanned the jumble of numbers and letters. _He's lying. He doesn't want to actually see you. No one told you he was back. No one likes you._ I shook my head and barreled out the door back into the frozen Chicago air. The sun was just beginning to set. How long was I out? It wasn't that long. Did I do something else? I couldn't remember. I started my way back home, trying to ignore the surreal feeling surrounding me. _It could be so much easier. Stay with us._

"Who the hell are you?" I breathe as I trudge through the snow littering the sidewalk. _Friends._ I stop in my tracks, as the devilish voices seem to come from right beside me. Turning my head, black grinning figures crouched in the distant trees behind a row of houses like vultures. MY heart rate sped up and my pace turned into a sprint. Almost cracking my damn head open on the pavement multiple times from slipping on the ice, I finally arrived at the Milkovich house. Stumbling up the steps, I crashed through the door into the living room where a few of my brothers were drinking and watching some cheap horror flick. The room reeked of marijuana and I immediately snatched a joint off the coffee table. All eyes were on me as I charged down the hallway and burst through my bedroom door. Turning into the bathroom, I slammed the door behind me and locked it, hoping it'll keep the things at bay. Sifting through the junk in my coat pocket, I eventually come up with my lighter. After many curses and failed attempts to get a flame to the lighter, I come to successful light the joint that was pinched in between my lips. I moaned at the feel of the drug as it began to seep its' way into my veins as I inhaled. I could hear their muffled whispers as they consulted one another. Probably judging me on my every thought and move. I sat on the cold tile floor for a while until I eventually slumped over and crashed due to the lack of sleep from many previous nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this chapter, I swear this is the slowest moving one I have, the rest will be better. Thank you guys for hanging in there!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Thanks again you guys for supporting this story! More will be on the way :)

Blinking my eyes open, the overhead light of the bathroom glared painfully into my tired eyes. I moaned and rolled over to my side, my back throbbing from sleeping on the hard floor. Pulling myself up off the tiles, I cursed under my breath. Each muscle ached in protest of the movement, and I twisted my sore body around to look at myself in the mirror. Really look at myself. God, I looked like shit. I was pale, even more than usual, and noticed I was thinning horribly. My cheeks were hollow, and my once electric blue eyes, the ones Gallagher just couldn't ever get enough of for some reason, were dead and lifeless. Just glassy spheres always staring straight ahead, windows to my decomposing soul. They moved slowly and mechanically as dark, bruise colored circles shadowed beneath them. He’s not going to want you. Look at yourself.

“It’s not my fault,” I croaked. _Liar. You’re a liar._ My eyes looked at the space next to me in the mirror, a shadowy image of a boy around my age stood off to the background. His shoulders shaking as I heard him giggle and shutter with laughter. 

“I fucking hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you all!”

Reaching down and scooping up a discarded switchblade off the floor, I expertly flicked it open, as Terry had taught me so many times before, I lunged. I lunged at the boy. I wanted to kill this boy. See his blood run onto the floor and splatter onto the window behind him. But I went right through him. I ran full speed right smack into the wall, banging my head so hard I could see stars. Where the fuck did he go? He was nowhere to be seen, but I heard him. I heard him all right. His cackles echoed through the bathroom as many voices joined in and chanted: _failure, failure, failure._ Stepping back, and still gripping my head, I stared at the blade. It was driven so deep into the wall, it was down to the wooden hilt. I wrapped my fist around the handle and tried to yank it out, moving it up and down, up and down, to loosen it up. My sudden migraine halted my actions, and I began grabbing at the many illegal pill bottles that lined the bathroom, and I choked down a few pain pills without water. They burned and scraped at my already scratchy throat, but I managed and stumbled out the door into my bedroom. Terry stood in my room with his arms crossed, his already ugly ass face twisted into something even uglier.

“The fuck was that noise?” He growled.

“I’m hung over, and fell,” I lied with ease. Shit, at this point I'm becoming a master in the art. Terry glanced at the switchblade behind me, protruding from the drywall behind me. He looked to me and then back to the knife, and my face contorted at the incoming yell-

But he just laughed. Bellowing waves of giddy laughter shook the room and made my head feel like it had tons of daggers spearing into it.

“Damn son, I’ll have what you’re having.”

I squeezed my eyes closed as he slapped me on the back, bringing in more shocks of pain all over my body. Stop laughing. Oh god please one second without laughter. He guided me out of the room and led me to the kitchen where the Milkoviches were already banded together, chowing down their breakfast.

“Look who I found wallowing around in his own damn sadness?” he chucked, obviously having loads of fun with insulting me. I shrugged off his arm and sat down, staring at my plate.

“What’s the matter, Mick?” Jamie spat around a mouth full of food, “Is it hormones? That time of the month?”

Mandy gave him a good, hard, smack on the arm, but that was nowhere near to stopping the group from howling with laughter like the pack of hyenas they were. Strangely enough, I actually felt like fucking crying. Me, I wanted to cry. After all the shit I've had to put up with, my fucked up family teasing me made me want to cry. But I couldn't. I wouldn't. I didn't feel the lump in my throat or the tears begin to gather in my eyes. I couldn't feel anything. Mandy was looking at me with pathetic eyes, full of silent apologies. I ignored her, I didn't need sympathy. My brothers were as loud as usual, but I didn't say anything. I kept to myself and ate in silence. With the same fucking fork.

The next week was absolute shit. The sun began to dip below the horizon on a Thursday night, and my day had consisted of drinking and staring at the address Kevin scribbled down for me a couple days back. Now that I knew at least Ian wasn't six feet under, I didn't know what I wanted. We definitely hadn't ended on a happy note, and I was almost afraid of what he was gonna say. What I was gonna say. All week I have received relentless torment from my strange attackers. I felt constantly tense and on edge, and it was a horrible feeling. I felt assaulted, but not knowing who or what was posing the threat, I can’t defend myself. All I could do was watch the shadows.

“You’re going to burn,” a voice hissed. I looked up and- the fuck was that? A goddamn alley cat looking thing sat perched atop my dresser on the other side of the room.

“What?”

“They’re coming for you.”

“Who?”

“Two times four equals Mike. I’m 400.”

I shook my head. That made no damn sense and I’m talking to a fucking creepy ass cat with pale skin and weird fur patches that were scattered throughout it's body. Fuckin' diseased lookin' thing.

“They’ll grind your bones and break your teeth.”

I jumped at the new voice, a little girl was sat with her legs crossed against the wall beside my bed.

“And who are you supposed to be?”

“Missy Kill.”

I shook my head violently a few more times and looked back to the strangers in my room, thinking they’d go away. They didn't, and many, many, blinking, staring eyes bored into me from the walls. Eyes were everywhere, everyone was staring at me.

“What will happen if they catch me?” I tested, staring at Missy. She was weird too, with on old black and white orphanage dress on, her black hair pulled back into pigtails and eyes so dark I think they were almost even black. However, 400 was the one that spoke.

“Try and avoid finding out,” the cat chirped.

“Mick?” Iggy burst through my door and my head whipped towards his direction, eyes widening. They darted between 400, Missy Kill, the thousand some eyes lining the walls and Iggy, but he continued to look at me. Only me. 

“You got the baseball bat? Bros and I gonna rob the Walmart a couple blocks up.”

I shook my head numbly, “nope, haven’t seen it.”

Iggy shrugged and pulled out of the door frame, clicking the door shut behind him. I looked at the bat laying on the other side of the bed away from the door, still resting there peacefully since I never had the chance to put it back after robbing the Kash n’ Grab few days back. I felt the weight of all eye's attention turned on me as I leaned over the side of my bed and grabbed the smooth wooden handle. Clenching my fist into a death grip until my knuckles went white, I stared back at the closed door.

"I need this more than you," I muttered.


	4. Chapter 4

Fuck it, I’m gonna go see firecrotch today. I was going stir crazy and needed to get out, and I just had to see this already seemingly prissy “Fairytale” bar. Chicago was still cold as hell, and standing outside this gay ass bar, I could almost feel the heat and lust leaking out of its' doors. Putting on my best scowl, in hopes I would relatively be left alone, I surged into the night club. Immediately after entering, booming pop music intruded my ears and rattled my brain. At least it’s sure as hell to shut my friends up for a little while. A few slimy old bats started fucking me with their eyes, and I flicked the bird over at them.

“Feisty, my favorite,” one of them grinned, making a show of rubbing himself. I already felt disgusting and uncomfortable upon just walking in here, how the hell does Gallagher work here? It wasn't even vaguely hard to locate the bar with all the bright lights flashing around it with shelves stacked high with every variety of whiskey and vodka. The bartender there, however, was not Gallagher. Some short blond guy wearing a sequin top and heavy eyeliner leaned over the counter and stuck his ass out for the view of the men behind him. I cringed and decided it was probably Ian’s day off. I shook my head, I’ll just go-

“You look lost,” A warm voice broke through the air behind me. It was that same voice that managed to make my blood freeze but fill with glee at the same time. I bit my lip and forced my body to turn around. Of course it had to be none other than Ian Gallagher. His smile wavered as the realization struck him, but he forced it back up again as though we had seen each other just a few days ago. Like we were just old fuckin' pals. He wore that same outfit as the bartender, only he had a bottle of whiskey in one hand and dollar bills shoved in the hem of his tight black shorts.

“Mickey . . . surprising to see you here,” he said in a joyful tone, but his words were laced with venom.

“Yea, um,” I began, shifting my feet and looking away. I had recited what I was going to say a million times with all the alone time I have recently been giving myself. But nevertheless, when the time came to finally put my rehearsing into action, my mind draws a blank. Saving me from having to speak, Gallagher asks me: “So how the hell did you stumble on a place like this?” 

“Kevin gave me the address,” I blurted, the younger boy raised an eyebrow and nodded along with the response. _You’ll always be left behind like garbage._ Suddenly, rage boiled inside me. Gallagher no longer fazed me and I got so, so angry. Their comment was a cruel reminder of why I believe I was really here, to ask him why. Why didn't you tell me you were back? Why did you do this to everyone? To me? My eyes narrowed and I balled my fists, still not looking directly at Ian I snarled:

“When did you plan on telling Mandy you were home? When did you plan on telling me?” Shit. I did not mean to say that last part. I was practically vomiting out words through my growing despise against Ian. “When did you get home?”

“Mick-“

“Why did you leave? You had us all scared shitless you fuck!”

Ian put his hands up, “I've only been home for about a week. I told Mandy days ago Mick, I thought you would've talk to her by now. And frankly, I didn't think you gave a shit.”

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Then again, maybe I did do it to myself. It was sweltering hot inside the club, the lights and noises were getting brighter and louder. The music boomed against my ears so hard I could feel my brain rattle inside my skull, and I felt like I was going to die. If the suffocation didn't get me first, my brain exploding inside my own head would've. I clamped my hands over my ears and pushed past Ian, I could almost see his pathetic puppy dog eyes. I ran out of there as fast as I could. I knew I was out when the sudden rush of cold air smacked into me like a brick wall. But I didn't stop. My breath came in short gasps as I sprinted home. I just wanted to be alone. But that was useless wish, because I’m never alone anymore. Finally getting back to my house, I smacked open the door and called for Mandy, wanting to prove Ian wrong I didn't just not talk to my sister, or anyone for that matter, in days. But no one was home. The house was black. The only sign the house hadn't been abandoned for months was the blaring TV. I got out of the setting as fast as I could, jogging around the house and turning on every light in the house. Missy Kill told me once they hide in the dark. _Go to the Bedroom._ My ears perked up as I finished turning on all the lights. Yes, yes! I have done something right for once! Sprinting to the bedroom, I slammed the door shut and pushed a chair up against it. I've learned the hard way that they don't like it when people come in. They always yelled at me if I didn't block the door. _Bathroom, you simple minded fuck,_ the voice then commanded. I rushed in and saw 400 sitting on the window sill. _You’re in danger. You need to let us help. Trust us. Let us in._

“How? Tell me!” I shout.

“Destroy him. It’s not you anyways.”

I glanced around the room in confusion, spinning around in place of where I stood, I jumped when I had turned towards the small mirror mounted on the opposite wall. The person staring back at me was horrifying. His eye's were so sunken, if I squinted, he looked like a skeleton. Just a pale, dead, assortment of bones. I began to smile at the irony of it. He kinda looked like me. They grinned back at me, imitating my actions.

“Quit it.” The face still copied me.

“Fuck off!” I yell, but the face had screamed back at me. Balling up my fist, I pulled back my arm, and smashed it against the mirror with every last bit of strength I had. A shatter echoed through the room, shards of glass clinked as they fell against the tile. I threw my head back and erupted with laughter, ecstatic when the face finally did not mimic me. He never will again! Slumping against the wall, I cradled my wrist as warm blood streamed down my fist and arm. Drops of crimson splattered onto the floor, and I stared at my wound. Bits of glass stuck out of my knuckles every which way in a horrific mosaic pattern, and it hurt like hell. But this was a small price to pay to be rid the face. Forever. I was so intrigued by the blood, even though I've seen it frequently ever since I was two, I guess I never really knew exactly how it smelled, and how it ran out of me in little streams. Or maybe I was just surprised the liquid wasn't black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please spread the story around and recommend it to your peers! :)


	5. Chapter 5

I guess in the midst of my mad dash to set the house alight, I hadn't noticed Svetlana in a peaceful slumber inside of her room, well, not anymore at least. She was awoken by my eleven o’ clock chaos, and I could hear her spitting out garbled Russian through the walls. My hand was really throbbing now from all my poking and prodding at it, and I'm sure I was only pushing the glass shards deeper into the flesh. So I slipped out of the bathroom like an easily startled deer and took the barricade off my door. A very pregnant Svetlana lumbered around the living room, letting out a string of curse words while she shut and locked the front door. I stood awkwardly in the living room, still clutching my bloody hand. When she turned around, her eyes were blazing with irritation from being woken up, and her hands were placed firmly on her hips.

“The hell is your problem? You send house through turmoil!” she shrieked. I rolled my eyes and made my way to the other bathroom to attempt patching up my hand before the damn thing gets infected. “I just call Mandy.”

I whipped around to face her, “The fuck you do that for?”

She got real close to my face, the crappy clock on the wall of the living room my brothers and I had stolen a while back froze. I stared at it, mimicking the stillness of the hands. My friends must be warning me, this was definitely not Svetlana. I backed up a few paces, keeping my eyes locked on her hands, trying to anticipate her actions. I watched her every movement.

“Because you one-hundred thirty pounds Ukrainian pussy, can’t be left alone thirty seconds.”

“Stay the fuck away from me,” I breathed, continuing to put space between us. Glancing back at the clock, I was still not relieved even though the hands were moving again. Mandy barged through the door minutes later, finding "Svetlana" and I maintaining a good amount of empty space between us.

“Mickey,” she sighed, “Fuck, lemme fix your damn hand.” And I allowed her. She was pretty much an expert at patching people up at this point with all the fights Milkovichs get into. After she finished, I glared at "Svetlana" one last time before backing back into my room and shoving a chair underneath the doorknob. You can never be too careful nowadays. I immediately threw myself onto my bed. I was so exhausted, but sleep would not come to relieve me. They just talk too much. Not even to me, just to each other, whispering and giggling. I was so alone, not even the voices will talk to me. Hell, where even am i right now? I'm definitely not where I was, and I'm not completely where they are, I was just being pushed around. I wanted to scream, beat something up, maybe I'd feel better if I watched someone else bleed for once. But I just laid there, cloaked in cold darkness, my old friend. My body felt like lead and my brain felt like it was going to crumble. I’m gonna break. _You’re gonna lose it._ Sorta like a tug of war between reality and my own abusive thoughts, and eventually, one side is gonna fall to the ground. Squeezing my eyes closed, I wanted to cry. I sighed in contentment at just the thought of letting it all go. Just cry, do yourself one favor, no one is around. I don’t have to be strong anymore, I don’t have to live in my own hellish prison. No tears came. Everything was dead, and black, and rotted. My mouth tasted metallic and I hadn't even realized I was biting the inside of my cheek so hard I drew blood. _You must be punished. Fucking scum._ I didn't deserve Ian, and he sure as hell didn't deserve me. I’m such an asshole, this is karma. I didn't run fast enough. They got me. Now they’re inside me. I can’t get them out, I can’t get them out. I saw Mother, she stood by my bed while I struggled to even weep. I didn't like her, she claimed she was my mom, that she is just trying to help. Her hair was a long stringy black that hung heavily around her face, and she wore a tattered white nightgown. Her eyes were damn near black, and her face was so stretched, so old and withered. 

“My boy,” she grinned, “what troubles you?”

I didn't respond. I didn't look at her. I just wanted to sleep, I just wanted someone to come save me from Mother!

“Go away,” I muttered into the pillow that I had shoved my face in. Can’t she just understand? I don’t want her here. 

“Honey, why would you say that?”

“If you don’t go away, I’m going to fucking kill you,” I snarled, and grinned. Pleased with myself for standing up to Mother. I could just imagine her face, mouth agape looking absolutely fucking appalled. I laughed, and I couldn't stop laughing.

“You shouldn't have done that,” Missy Kill whispered next my ear. I bolted straight up and looked around in the darkness.

“Who cares? I don’t! I don’t care about a single goddamn one of you! Now let me fucking sleep!” I exclaimed, throwing my alarm clock at the wall in front of me to prove a point. I heard it shatter and plastic shards rained down onto my carpet. My eyes darted around, daring anyone to challenge me. All was silent. I smirked, that’s what I fucking thought.

My eyes jerked open, awakened by a determined, strong rapping on the front door.

“Fucking hell!” I growled. It was still dark outside my window, and naturally, when I finally get everyone to shut up, I still can’t get peace. There was a heavy padding of bare feet that moved past my door, the hallway light was flicked on and shone through the crack under my door. Probably Mandy, knowing all my other brothers are passed out completely shitfaced. Ripping away the covers, I swung my legs over the side of my bed, and stood up. I stomped out of my room and yanked the door open, ready smash whoever’s on the front porch’s face in. 

“The fuck’s making all that noise?” I grumbled, rubbing my eyes and striding into the hallway. I stopped dead in my tracks, looking past Mandy, I saw Ian fucking Gallagher standing in the door frame. It was pouring rain, telling from the amount of raindrops I saw in the glare of the street lamp outside and Ian’s fire red hair that was plastered to his forehead and temples. He looked up from Mandy and made eye contact with me, and I allowed myself to get lost in his gaze. This was short lived though, I immediately got defensive and looked back to Mandy, who was staring back at me.

“The hell is he doin’ here at the ass crack a dawn?” I commented, gesturing towards Ian.

“You took off. Just wanted to make sure you were, um, good?” he attempted.

“Mhm. Yea, I’m just fuckin’ perfect,” I nodded. Mandy waved Ian to come inside. I raised an eyebrow and glared out Mandy, “Um, what?”

“Mick I invited Ian to stay over.”

Ian smirked, boring into me with his bright green eyes, “Yea. Been a long time.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yea, ok, whatever. You two have fun. Wake me again and I’ll smash your head into a wall.” Spinning around, I shuffled back to my room, and I felt Ian’s eyes following me until I finally disappeared into the room and closed the door.

I didn't actually go to sleep for the rest of the night. I drifted in and out, but was too tense and on edge to ease into sleep. So obviously I felt like shit the next morning, but heightened by the sense of threat, I pretty much ran on attack mode. Poking my head out of my room, I looked up and down the hallway, no one was there. My brothers must still be passed out. Shuffling down the hallway, I stopped a distance away from the kitchen opening. Mandy and Ian were laughing and playful smacking each other, but both of their heads bolted up in my arrival. I inched toward the opening and peeked around both walls, making sure Svetlana, or not Svetlana, was there. And even though I told myself the coast was clear, I looked at Mandy.

“She here?” I asked in a hushed voice. 

“For fucks sake Mickey, no. Quit being fucking deranged.” She shoved her chair back and walked over to where I was standing. Grabbing my wrist on my uninjured hand, she began hauling me over around the table for the chair in between her and Ian. Oh fuck. Haven’t I had enough torture? I wanted to twist my hand away, but bloody fuck I was starved. When was the last time I had eaten? I grew more frantic, I actually had no recollection when the last time I ate was. People don’t just forget that. Do they? My thoughts were suddenly torn to bits when I locked my eyes on the pancakes. Ripping my hand away from Mandy's grasp, I practically threw myself at the table and began wolfing down food. Ian and Mandy continued their mindless banter, and I noticed Ian cast a few side glances toward me. I slowed down my eating frenzy after a while when I became much less malnourished. Ian’s foot prodded mine, and he ran his hand seductively up and down my thigh under the table. Mandy was totally oblivious, and I shot Ian a malicious glare. He grinned and I smacked his hand away from my leg, I was completely not in the mood. When turning my head back forward, I noticed a figure standing inside a doorway in the hallway. It grinned, a grin blacker than the black inside of the room. I narrowed my eyes, so sick and tired of this shit. I don’t know how much time slipped away as we stared each other down, daring each other to make a move. A slight pain erupted on my arm as Mandy smacked it, startling me and very well getting my attention if that was her objective. 

“The hell you looking at? Get dressed and get some fresh air assface.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will be posted more frequently now that I'm on winter break and have lots of time! Yay!


	6. Chapter 6

“So how the fuck did you manage to get 'outta the army?” I chuckled, completely delirious from the drugs, it just kinda slipped out. Been a couple months since Ian came back, but the army has always been a touchy subject we've silently agreed to veer away from, I guess. I took long drag of my joint to cover it up, to seem casual, and passed it off to Ian. He only smirked and brought the joint to his full, pink, lips. God, they were really nice lips.

“Well, technically, I didn't actually ever get into the army. I was still in training, got kicked out for impersonating Lip and taking his social security number,” he looked down, smiling at the ground, and shook his head, but continued. “Army didn't want to get sued for endangering a minor, I didn't want to go to juvie, so the sergeant and I struck up a deal never to talk about it again.” He passed the joint to me and I took the last drag, but stopped halfway and huffed out the smoke, coughing a bit. Ian looked at me with eyes full of concern and I waved him off.

“Shit drag,” I coughed out, reassuring him. My brain felt real sluggish, and not in the good fucked up kind of way due to the weed. Everything began to blur together and my ears were ringing. I had felt crappy at the start, uncertain if I should even be inhaling anything until I had straightened myself out first, but I needed the escape from the incident where I came barreling out of the closet a few days ago at the Alibi and my . . . personal problems. Ian and I walked throughout our favorite old abandoned buildings, what was once our ideal place to fuck. Really we didn't need to hide our affection anymore since I am now officially out as gay, but I still feel uneasy about making a public show of it due to many years of being forced to hide any signs of my liking for boys, possibly to save my own damn life. Out of the blue, Ian looks over at me and his signature shit eating grin blooms across his face. He grabs a hold of my hips and backs me up against one of the concrete walls. Ian licks his lips and brushes them against mine, teasing me. I could already tell where this was leading to. We haven’t fucked, like, at all. Not once since Ian got back. So much other shit was going on I guess it just kinda slipped by with everything else. Which baffled me more, I'd never pass up a good fuck much less forget about sex altogether. And I knew Ian was getting impatient. I’m just never into it like I used to. I can’t even remember the last time I actually felt horny. I guess I can get past it, it's just a quick fuck, right? I can do it for Ian, he deserves to be happy without me fucking shit up- again.

“Remember this place?” he mused, his hand sliding down to grope my ass.

“Mmmhmm,” I moaned back. He crashed our lips together, sucking on my bottom lip and sticking his tongue in my mouth. I felt nothing. Running my hand through Ian’s hair, I pulled us even closer, kissing him with unwavering desperation. Still nothing. My hand slithered down to palm Ian’s erection, while Ian kissed and bit a mark into my neck, then left a wet trail of kisses up my neck and back to my mouth again. Fucking nothing! I was officially panicking now, no they couldn't take even this away from me, they can’t. Spinning us around, I pinned Ian against the wall and stuck my hand up his shirt, down his pants. nothing. nothing. nothing. I felt Ian grip my crotch, including my still flaccid cock, and everything froze. Our heated make out came to an abrupt halt and he stared at me. I hung my head and stared at the ground, ashamed. I pushed away from him and stormed off, never really reacting well to embarrassment. I heard Ian’s heavy leather boots smack against the stone floor, speeding into a jog to catch up with me.

“Mick! Mickey!” he called, breathing heavily when he finally came up behind me. “Mickey look at me.” I grumbled and continued to walk away, kicking a beer bottle with brute force and watching it shatter against a wall.

“Mickey, Look. At. Me.” Ian grabbed my arm and spun me around to face him, then took the opportunity to grab hold of my other arm. “It’s probably just the drugs. It’s fine.” I still wouldn't make eye contact with him, opting to stare off into the distance wallowing around in my own self-hatred as I heard them begin to laugh at me. “Come one, let’s just go back to my place.” I nodded slowly, still extremely uncomfortable and unsure if I even want to stick around just so everyone can have the sheer amusement of mocking me. And before I could even make up my mind, he intertwined his fingers with mine, the energy alone managing to even keep me around as Ian lead me back to the Gallagher's. 

Ian and I were sitting on Lip’s old bed, which Ian has informed me is now his ever since Lip had gone off to college. I wedged myself in Ian's lap, his arms wrapped around my waist and absently traced over my knuckle tattoos with his fingers. We sat in a comfortable silence for a while, but I wanted him to talk. I fucking begged him to talk. Just to say something, anything, just to relieve me, even for just a few moments, of the distant screaming in my head. I squeezed my eyes shut and whined, straining not to slap my hands over my ears in woeful wish to cut off the violent shouts of pain echoing throughout my brain. The bloodcurdling screams never fucking go away, but I still tried everything I could. I'd do anything to be able to claw my way out of this endless abyss.

“Hey are you doing okay? You haven’t looked so good lately,” Ian commented.

I scoffed, still not all that used to someone actually caring about me, I replied in full-fledged sarcasm. “Oh thanks. Just what a girl likes to hear.”

“No, I’m serious Mickey. Mandy’s worried too. She said you haven’t been eating, and you’re thinning a lot.”

 _You’re rotting away._ My eyes widened, I began to shake. This paranoia hit me full force. And I was not prepared. I recalled a detestable memory back when I was only eight. When I had seen my first dead body. My own mother's, to be exact. I had wandered into the kitchen, so absolutely starved I'm sure my own stomach was starting to digest itself. And there she was. Just lying there. Her black hair fanned out around her on the linoleum, her skin so white it was even transparent, exposing many blue spindly veins webbing throughout her body. Looking back, I'm sure she overdosed on something, hell, she was on everything. I remembered being so confused, falling to my knees as I poked her and gripped her shoulder, violently shaking her and screaming for her to wake up. Mommy wake up! Wake up! Don't leave us with him, don't leave us alone, I had whimpered over and over. I cradled her frail, bony body, her head resting in my lap. Stroking her soft hair, I sobbed, my tears dripping onto her cold, dead face. Her vacant eyes stared up at me, unblinking, unresponsive. I was the one who found her, I was the one who had destroy everyone's hearts. Mandy and I cried for months, clutching each other for dear life as we traded words back and forth that were useless in consoling either one of us. Terry wasn't even fazed. I could almost taste the iron in the back of my throat as I revoked the memory of Mandy pressing ice packs to my black eyes and paper towels to my bloody noses when Terry beat me. He constantly enlightened me on how much of a pussy I was for mourning mom for so long. It won't be long now until I take after my mom. Just a lifeless heap of meat on the floor. My vibrant blue eyes dulled and clouded, unblinking, unresponsive. My missing emotions suddenly came rushing back in uninvited, the realization finally taking hold and sinking in that I’m dying. They’re right. I’m dying. Alarmed, I push myself off the bed and try to make it to the door. _All you’ll be is skin and bones. Just a decaying corpse on the ground._


	7. Chapter 7

I was almost able to successfully bolt through the door, just wrapping my hand around the doorknob, but Ian was faster.

“Mickey? What’s wrong?” Ian grabbed my shoulders and spun me around, his green irises searching my eyes. I glued my gaze to his gaze, and shook my head.

“Was it something I said?” Ian mumbled, and I shook my head again so vigorously I conjured up an image of it flying off my shoulders in a bloody fucking mess. I giggled, god I was completely out of it. Ian cracked a smile, chuckling along with me, however I was not truly feeling joy. My brain told me to laugh, and so I did, but happiness had fled me a long time ago. I began laughing even harder, thinking; what the hell was I good for if I can’t even fuck anymore? Useless piece of shit. Ian gripped my shoulders to prop me up from falling over I was cracking up so hard.

Still smiling, Ian prods me out of my fit with a simple, completely legit question: “Mandy going to be home?” No fucking way. As quick as it started my laughing ceases, and my blood boiled, my face beginning to heat with my increasing temper. I don’t even know why. _Get angry._ I lashed out at Ian, grabbing a fistful of his sweatshirt and shoving him backwards. The look on his face was completely priceless, a look of utter shock. The shadowed boy stood in the corner, watching. He smiled and began to clap, pleased with my actions. I blew up with pride, I felt like I've finally been accepted, and now that I have achieved something, maybe they’ll stop tormenting me? I began to cackle along with the shadow boy, and kept on pushing my animosity.

“Why?” I shouted, “you feel bad you have to leave to go to your shitty fucking job? Ripping your clothes off for some geriatric viagroid?” Ian opens his mouth, then closes it again, like a broken fucking puppet. Shit, maybe that's what I was.

“Is that was this is about Mick?” He says in a small voice. I wrinkle my face in disgust at his ignorance and storm out of the room. Not even close to what this was fuckin’ about. Didn't even look back as I flew out of the Gallagher house in a hurry. The sprint home was torturous, I was weak and fuck I needed to stop smoking. Running up the creaky wooden steps, I could barely see where I was going from the daze in my eyes at this fluky adrenaline rush. When I slammed the front door, the surrounding silence was thick and deafening, intensifying my immense loneliness. See what you've done? Why does Ian deserve you? You don’t know what you’re doing. Stop I told myself again and again. You’re being pathetic. I felt scummy, bedraggled and disheveled, my inner unsightliness has now infected my appearance on the outside. Thankful no one is home, I ripped off my clothes and stumbled into the bathroom, my movements far from graceful as I tripped into the shower, loud thuds emanating from the tub. Under the lukewarm water, I scrubbed myself over and over again, soaping up and washing off. I still believed I was filthy, and no matter how many times I tried washing myself, I couldn't seem to get clean. My skin chafed and bloomed irritated red blotches from being repeatedly scrubbed, and the soap burned like a motherfucker. Finally giving up and setting the soap bottle down, I spotted my razor on the shower floor. I stared at it, water ran down my face and stung my eyes. _Do it. And we’ll stop. It’ll all be over._ I timidly bent over and picked up the razor, examining it as if it was some foreign object I had never seen before. They’ll stop. You’ll be free. Maybe I’ll feel better watching myself bleed, just to make sure I’m even still here. That this is all still real. Putting the razor to the soft flesh on the inside of my forearm, I push the blade down and dragged it along the skin a couple inches above my wrist. I watched as the skin opened up and the crimson liquid began to flow through, running in rivulets down my arms and mixing into a diluted red pool at the bottom of the shower. The water started to run cold and I turned it off, immediately feeling shitty with guilt. Fuck, what’s new? I pulled on my clothes, then sunk back onto the linoleum floor and put my head in my hands. I don’t even know why I got mad at Ian, it was all just too much. I should probably go apo-

“Psst.” A voice hissed from somewhere in front of me. When I glanced up, I noticed 400 perched on top of the window sill. The cat still looked ratty as hell, like it had gone through a meat grinder, but it was pretty nice to me most of the time compared to the others, so I listened.

“What do you want?” I grumbled.

“Mother isn't too pleased with you.”

I splayed my hands apart, I’m not going to fucking to this now. “You know what? I don’t fucking care.”

“She thinks your friends are a bad influence. Mother wants to protect her baby.”

“She’s gonna give you a whippin’ boy,” Missy Kill chimed in. 

“But she's not the one you have to worry about, they’re watching you, and you can bet they're out there,” 400 purred and then snickered. I gave a nervous glance towards the door, and when I looked back into the bathroom, 400 and Missy Kill had vanished. I jumped, in the background, voices accumulated outside the front door and the knob began to rattle. Springing to my feet, I burst from the bathroom and snatched the baseball bat I always had hidden underneath my bed. Creeping out of my bedroom, I gripped the handle so tight my knuckles began to turn white, and I approached the door with caution. The knob turned and I raised the bat over my shoulder, my arm muscles tensing, ready to swing with all the crushing force I had. Mandy stepped through the door and shrieked, putting her hands up.

“Mickey! Stop!”

When I recognized the supposed intruder as nothing more than my obnoxious sister, I relaxed my arms and dropped the bat to the floor with a clunk, my heart beating rapidly, still amped up from the adrenaline. Ian pushed past Mandy through the door to see what the struggle was, and I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“Oh my god,” I muttered, “You can’t be fucking serious.”

Mandy shoved past me, stomping off to god knows where. My ears perked up as I heard faint rummaging from her room. The hell was she doing?

“What? Why-“ I turned to Ian, “Did you fucking call her?”

Ian bunched up his shoulders, “I didn't know what to do! You were upset, and arbitrarily ran off, again.” He stared down at his shoes and muttered, “I didn't know what to think.” Mandy came back and dumped a black duffel bag on the floor.

“Get your things Mickey. Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire chapter I have been listening to the Donnie Darko soundtrack on repeat. It's an amazing movie, literally my favorite, and you guys should check it out when you have a chance! Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

Inside my room, I pulled on a grey long sleeved shirt, carefully picking one that succeeded in hiding all my various self-inflicted cuts that ran all along the inside of my arm. I didn't hate myself, I told myself over and over. No, I was simply curious. I wanted to know what made up a human being. And I've come to the conclusion it’s lots, and lots, of blood. Pools of sticky, red, blood. I shuffled out of my room with Mandy's duffel bag slung over my shoulder, stuffed with whatever clothes I pulled out first. I couldn't fucking care less. Having matching outfits was the least of my concerns. I was being kicked out of my own goddamn house, my goddamn ‘friends’ are stalking me wherever I go, and my goddamn brain is completely broken to hell. Ian and Mandy sat on the couch out in the living room, quietly whispering to each other. I hated it, I’m not fucking four, and they aren't my fucking parents consulting with each other about how naughty I've been. They looked up when I appeared into the room, and I moved over in front of Ian and Mandy who now stood in front of the couch. I pulled my mouth down into a frown and narrowed my eyes, making myself look as pissed as possible.

“Hey Mick, um, so I guess you’re gonna stay with me for a bit,” Ian smiled. I glared at him and then I stared daggers into Mandy.

“I know you’re not pleased with this Mickey, but I don’t know what to fucking do. I can’t even leave you by yourself anymore.”

“The fuck you mean? I don’t need a fucking babysitter I can take care of myself!” I yell, Ian began to step forward to intervene, but Mandy put a hand up to stop him.

“No, you can’t. You don’t think I can’t hear you screaming every goddamn night? How many times I've had to clean up broken shards of fuck knows what off your fucking floor?”

Ian and I both had looks of complete bewilderment on our faces. Mandy huffed and rubbed her hand over her face, brushing stray black strands of hair out of her face. She continued in a more measured, calmer tone, “are you on something Mick? You smoking meth or something?” My heart broke in that instant. The roaring storm of rage subsided and I now stood in the broken aftermath, my home in shambles. What kind of big brother am I to scare the living daylights out of my sister? She was always there for me, she served the world, and if she wants me gone, so be it. I want me gone. I nodded slowly, bending down and grabbing my bag. I sullenly trudged out the door, Ian said goodbye to Mandy and gave her a reassuring hug. I almost felt jealous. I won't ever admit it, but I wanted Ian to give me hug. Kevin’s truck was out in front and I stumbled down the porch, it fucking pitch black outside. I don't like that at all. Imagine all the places they could hide. I hurried into the truck and slammed the door, compliant to Ian driving me to the Gallagher's. 

“Where is everyone?” I questioned, scanning the seemingly empty house. Ian snorted and replied, “God, who knows?” He reached back and grabbed my free hand. He led me over to the staircase and climbed up the stairs towards Lip’s empty room. I instantly felt a pang of guilty deja-vu from the event that had transpired earlier, and dropping my bag by the bed, I turned towards Ian.

“Hey, um, what I said earlier . . . I didn't mean it, I was just fucked up beyond my mind,” I mumbled, rubbing the back of my neck to awkwardly comfort myself. Ian smiled and moved in front of me, gripping my shoulders and pulling me into a kiss. When he pulled away, he leaned his forehead against mine, and smirked.

“Don’t worry about it, okay? It’s been a long day let’s just get some sleep.”

I nodded against his forehead and watched Ian as he turned away and stripped himself out of his jeans. I knew he was itching to ask what ‘fucked up’ particularly meant, and props to him, wisely decided not to bring it up. I numbly worked away the button on my jeans, when I noticed Mother standing at the far corner of the room. I looked between Ian and Mother, but Ian just continued his business, bending over and pulling the covers back. I was so exhausted, every time I blinked I fell in and out of the brink of consciousness. I finally was able to step out of my jeans and slide into bed next to Ian. I closed my eyes and let out a sigh of contentment, only to jerk them open again, feeling those black eyes settle on me. Mother was still standing there, staring at me. I shifted uncomfortably against Ian’s chest, and tried going back to sleep. I was just on the verge of falling into sleep when I could still feel Mother’s demonic eyes of endless pits stare down at me. I squirmed again and curled my fists tighter into Ian’s T-shirt.

“What’s the matter Mick?” Ian whispered into my ear. 

My brow furrowed and I grumbled, “Make Mother go away.”

I felt Ian tense against me and I didn't even realize what I was saying I was so out of it.

“Where is she?” he played along.

“In the corner,” I mutter matter-of-factly.

“What does she want?”

A smile crept across my face, “to punish me.” I could tell by the sudden wisp of cool air on my face Ian had picked his head up and was looking at the far corner of the room where Mother was. I soon relaxed and fell asleep, but I could feel how uneasy Ian was, and he wasn't so fortunate.

When I woke up the next morning, I noticed Ian was absent from bed. I struggled to remain awake, but I forced myself to get up, move out of the room. I was acting airy and even a little loopy, like I was hungover. My head was real fuzzy, but that thought was there and gone when I smelled the waft of breakfast coming up the stairs. As I opened the bedroom door, I winced at the sudden loudness and cackling coming from downstairs. I straggled down the hallway and as I descended the stairs, each step made a dull thump as my sleepiness detracted my gracefulness. I rubbed one of my eyes as I came in view of the entire Gallagher gang at the dinner table.

“Are you people always so goddamn noisy?” I remarked, taking my seat in a chair next to Ian. He stared at his plate as every Gallagher stopped and stared at me. I promptly ignored them and grabbed a few slices of toast.

“Yea Mickey, make yourself at home,” Lip sarcastically commented. I glared at him and continued eating, stopping once to pour myself a cup of coffee.

“Is Mickey staying with us?” Carl asked.

“Um, yea,” Ian responded, smiling at him and carrying on with nibbling away at his food. Carl shrugged and continued stabbing a piece of toast with his fork. Lip rolled his eyes and stomped around the counter over to Liam’s highchair, grabbing him under the armpits, then propping him up on his hip.

“You leaving?” Fiona asked, seeming shocked, her brows furrowing together.

“Uh, yea, morning class,” Lip responded.

“Oh. Well, you can leave Liam. I’ll be here. He’ll be fine,” she sputtered out. My curious eyes left my plate and looked towards the possible fight that was about to break out. I've always loved watchin’ a good fight. ‘Specially a classic Gallagher fight.

“Yea, I’d rather not,” Lip grabbed a duffel bag next to Liam’s highchair and slung it around his shoulder, beginning to walk out of the kitchen to the front door. Ian told me all about the whole coke situation with Liam, and while I pretended I was just casually listening in, I was actually very intrigued. It felt good to know I’m not the only one trapped in my own personal hell.

“No, really, it’s fine,” Fiona made a grab at Liam, but Lip but a hand up, and turned his body so Liam was blocked from a desperate Fiona.

“Fiona! No!” he yelled, staring her down before turning around and rushing out the door. Fiona’s shoulders slumped and she turned back to sit back down at the table. Her expression was laced with hurt, and she hid her face by staring down at her plate. Debbie and Carl were gawking at her, and Ian kept focusing on eating. Fiona eventually got up and labored up the stairs, and everyone went back to tending to their breakfast. I began to smile, and I tried to conceal it by boring down at my half eaten toast. Stop, I told myself. Why the fuck was I so smug all of the sudden? _Coke whore,_ a voice scorned. And I lost it. My body began trembling with laughter, to the point where I was doubled over in my chair, holding my stomach. I knew everyone was staring at me, completely taken aback and confused. For once they could insult someone other than me! They could abuse people and get away with it. They can invade me and get away with it. I cracked up at how unfair it all was, how of course it had to happen to me, because it was the only thing I could do.

“Mick,” Ian scolded under his breath. I waved my hand and got up, my laughter dying down as I wiped the tears accumulating in my eyes. I take my plate to the sink and drop it in with a crash, turning around to head upstairs and get dressed.

I chuckled a little more, “Ah, fuck,” I muttered as I bounded up the stairs. Ian followed me, and I could feel Debbie and even Carl’s gaze locked on me the entire time until I disappeared around the corner.

Ian and I spent the rest of the day at The Alibi until we returned home and Ian had to go to his late night shift at the club. And I don’t know what the fuck he told Debbie and Carl, but they pretty much trailed me everywhere for the rest of the goddamn night. I was trying to get shit done. For the last couple of hours, I've been checking the house for anything the FBI could use to spy on us. And maybe, it’s not even the FBI. Maybe it’s someone else, and it didn't really matter, you can never be too careful. I first got the idea from watching the news earlier on that evening, a story about how some psycho lady bugged her ex-boyfriend’s phone and house, blah, blah, blah. The actual story was pretty fuckin’ dumb, but it got me thinking. It could be a message for me to be wary that people are watching me. I searched behind the TV, in drawers and cabinets, even in the goddamn toaster.

“What are you doing?” Carl asked peering over my shoulder to watch me pick apart a clock on Fiona’s nightstand.

“Checkin’ for bugs. The FBI could be watchin’ us. You want that?”

Carl’s face contorted, “I guess not. . .”

“Good. Get your sister, I need you guys to help me yank out the fridge.”

Ian got home just when it became dark, and when he walked into the room I had completely torn apart our bed. The mattress was unzipped, pillows were out of their cases and blankets were strewn all over the floor. He stood in the door frame, his mouth agape as I ravishingly clawed through the closet.

“Mickey what the hell are you doing?” He spat, stalking into the room and closing the door. Satisfied with my closet search, I began again over at the nightstand drawers. Papers and miscellaneous objects tumbling out over the sides.

“Someone could be watching us, I’m lookin' for microphones, cameras, shit like that.” I muttered to the wall.

“That’s ridiculous. You’re completely delusional, Mick,” he grabbed my wrist and spun me around to face him. I ripped my arm out of his grasp and squinted my eyes.

“Someone is spying on us, so I’m doing all of us a favor and think I deserve at least a fucking thanks. And you know what? Maybe you all should start checkin’ your food for razor blades or rat poison too,” I snap back, glaring up into Ian’s eyes, trying to scare him into complying with my statement. All he did was shake his head and whisper:

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mickey will be getting help soon, I promise. Hang in there!


	9. Chapter 9

After our feud, Mickey and I did not sleep together. We both laid on the floor in fact, since Mick had left the bed in shambles, and both of us were too exhausted to put it back together. I made sure to distance myself, sleeping on the other side of the mattress from where he was, but I did not dare leave the room. He was too unpredictable, who knows what the hell he'd do next. We awkwardly ate breakfast with Debbie, Carl, and Fiona, they were also the only ones talking. I watched Mickey with displeasure as he made a show of ripping apart his pancake, and carefully examining each piece before shoving it in his mouth. My other siblings cast sideways glances at him as he ate, but he didn't even care. What the hell happened when I was gone? Mickey abruptly got up from the table and grabbed his coat, heading towards the door. 

“Where are you going?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. Mickey flipped me off and stepped out anyway, slamming the door behind him.

“You guys get in a fight?” Fiona questioned, pouring herself more coffee. I sighed and ran my hands through my hair, I really didn't want to talk about it.

“He’s weird,” Carl added, licking his toast, “But I got to crawl inside of the oven!”

Fiona cocked her head to the side, her eyebrows shooting up, “the hell were you doing that for?”

“To look for bugs. Mickey said it was to get the government off our tail.”

Fiona shook her head and looked towards me for answers, I just shrugged pinched the bridge of my nose. 

“Ian that’s not normal, 'the government'," she mocked, "really?"

I ignored her and asked to borrow the phone. Fiona eventually gave up and handed the ancient grey flip phone over. Nodding my thanks, I stood up and headed upstairs. I arrived at my destroyed bedroom and dialed Mandy, holding the phone between my cheek and shoulder, I began to tidy the room. I silently prayed Mandy would pick up, and after the fourth ring, she finally did.

“Hello?” her voice crackled at the other end.

“Mandy it’s me.”

“Oh hey Ian. How’s everything going?”

“Um,” I switched back and forth between being honest and lying, and had quickly chosen the latter, “Pretty good. Hey I wanted to talk to you about Mick?” I grunted as I hauled the thick white mattress back onto the metal bed frame and kicked the discarded clothes on the floor into the closet, forcing it shut. Then I loitered on the bed, absently picking at the frayed threads sticking out at the end of a blanket. 

Mandy’s voice tensed, I even imagined her lips starting to press into a thin line. “Yea, what about him?”

“When I left, how was he?”

“Fine for the most part. Well, he was grumpy all the time,” she chuckled.

“Mandy I’m not joking. Something’s seriously wrong,” my voice wavered, and I cleared my throat to cover it up. “When Monica was sick, she acted strange too. Like, I don’t know. I was pretty young-“

“No. No, no, no. Ian stop it. Mickey is not bipolar for fucks sake.”

I began to sweat, my body temperature began to rise just as Mandy’s voice. “How do you know that you didn't do this to him?” she yelled. My face paled. I was defiantly not proud leaving for the army. I always carry around a small bit of guilt for abandoning everyone. I just couldn't take it with Mickey getting married, and Svetlana getting pregnant with his child. But if I did this, whatever ‘this’ is, I would never be able to forgive myself. “Where is he Ian? I want to talk to my brother!”

“H-he. . . he ran off,” I stuttered out in a small voice.

“Fucking hell Ian! What are you doing? Go find him!” There was a sudden silence, she hung up. Closing the phone, I hauled ass running around the house, grabbing my coat and shoes. I even slipped the phone in my pocket, just in case Mandy called. Bounding down the stairs I yelled over to Fiona, who was in the kitchen scrubbing plates, that I needed the phone for a few hours. She nodded and said something back, but I was already out the door.  


* * * * * *

I needed to get drunk. I needed to get high. I needed so many things and I couldn't seem to figure out how to satisfy anything. I wanted to get as far away from south side as I possibly could, and I still couldn't fucking leave. Even though I had tried. I had taken the L and walked. I walked for so long and I was still getting not even close to nowhere. I was still in my ghetto ass home. I was in a bar, though, and that’s all that mattered. Throwing down shots, I shuddered with each one, as I inhaled them down my throat. _Worthless. You failed. You can’t ever fix it._ I didn't dare go to the Alibi, knowing full well I would be easily recognizable, they’d call Ian, and he'd just drag me back to his house again. He didn't care about me, he was forced to even let me take shelter in his own home. I had a certain ache inside, not even the marijuana and alcohol could help with that. My vision was warped, and figures danced around the room, sneering and laughing. All at me. _Faggot. Cock sucking looser. Can't do anything right._ Because I'm a fucking joke. 

“. . . local robbery _IT WAS YOU._ Walmart vows no theft _WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?_ New drug to decrease arthritis, _RUN. THEY'VE FOUND YOU_. . .” the TV in the back blared loudly. My rationality had been ripped away, and all I knew was that I was being ambushed. Who told them? I stared at the bar tender, yes, he always had that smug look on his face. My eyes widened at the realization.

“Was it you?! Did you tell them?!” I screamed, throwing my shot glass at the wall behind him. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! _Kill them. Idiot. Your dead._ I broke a beer bottle on the side of the counter and pointed it at the other bar dwellers advancing in my direction.

“One more step and I swear to God someone’s guts will be on the floor!” 

I heard the bartender begin wailing in the background: “What the fuck kid? I’m calling the cops! Knew I shouldn't have let some coked up thug like you in. . .” his voice tapered off as he scurried around to the back. I took this as my queue to get the hell out, knocking over my bar stool, I booked it out of there.

This surely wasn't my first flee from the cops, I knew how to properly do it. But unlike now, my head was not spinning and voices were not bombarding me from every which way. I ran through the numerous alleys and kept to the back streets as my dad had always so generously taught me. I began to recall where exactly I was, taking in the familiar cracked streets around the Kash n’ Grab. The alley had ended at an abrupt stop, so I swung a last second right turn- right out into the busy streets. People threw up their hands and scoffed as I rammed into them, exploding out onto the side walk. A very distant wail of police sirens sounded in the background, and I knew. This was it. The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE!! Despite the last sentence of this chapter, I assure you this IS NOT the final chapter. That was simply Mickey's mindset and I will be posting the next chapter soon :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone had an amazing new years!

Police sirens were shrieking in the background, the shrill noise was like nails on a chalkboard to my ears. Even though south side had a lot of crime, police didn't usually give two shits unless someone had committed a fucking felony. I was on a empty side street not too far from the Kash n’ Grab, in fact. I had checked everywhere, was worried sick and needed to humor every idea. I run my hands through my hair. Another dead end.

“Fuck, Mickey,” I groaned.

The clink of a bottle sounded behind me. I startled and whipped around, prepared for a sure fight. My eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of Mickey standing just a mere house away, right there in the middle of the street as was I.

“Mickey!” I yell over the blaring of the police sirens, “what the hell are you doing?” His jet black hair was rumpled up and a broken beer bottle lay on the concrete street still shaking back and forth slowly. He grinned at me, and shrugged.

“I failed. You’ll just have to pick someone else,” he laughed, swaying on his feet. He was obviously wasted. 

“Mick, no. What are you even talking about?” I shouted, damn the sirens were so loud. What the hell is going on? If only he could realize how much I-

Blue and red lights flooded into the empty street as police cars turned a corner and bombed out onto the road. Mickey kept pacing back and forth, completely unfazed at the cars hurling towards him.

“I tried. Ya know? I really did. But in the end, they found me” he cackled and threw up his hands, “fuck, what can ya do?”

Tears welled up in my eyes as I stared in shock at the vehicles circling Mickey, now that their sirens were off I could hear how heavily Mickey was breathing.

“Mickey . . . what did you do?” I choked, tears now falling down my cheeks. Police opened their doors and stood behind them, guns drawn and all pointed at Mickey. 

“Get your hands up where we can see them! Both of you!” one shouted in a megaphone behind all the others. I slowly raised my hands, tears were streaming down my face.

“Man with black hair, I want you to lie flat on your stomach, and keep your hands stretched out on the ground!”

Mickey stared at me as he complied with the cop’s orders, slowly falling to his knees while always maintaining eye contact with me.

“Cuff him!”

Police rushed out from behind their car doors and pounced on Mickey, one getting on top of him and jamming his knee into his back. My heart broke watching Mickey wince as the officer wrenched his arms back and slapped the cuffs on his wrists. Two officers flanked me and each grabbed a firm hold one of my biceps.

“Where are you taking him? What did he do? Let me talk to him!” I shouted, kicking my legs and twisting around trying to break free of their hold. Two officers hauled Mickey to his feet, he screamed and thrashed around as they made a failed attempt of jamming him into the back of a squad car. An ambulance also pulled up next to the scene, paramedics flooding out of the truck.

“We've got 245 with an intoxicated man, mentally unstable, very violent,” a paramedic sputtered into the walkie-talkie clipped to his shoulder. I shook my head forcefully, i needed to wake up from this nightmare, because this is was not happening. I immediately began running things over in my head, what I could done, should've done, didn't do. I should've known from the fucking start Mickey was not acting right. He desperately needed help and no one was there for him. I wasn't there when he needed me most. And that would be the brand new guilt I will carry around with me every day. The police yanked Mickey out of the squad car, it was no use trying to shove him in with the fight he was putting up, and laid him back on the ground so one of the men could throw his weight on top of him to keep him down. A paramedic jogged over carrying over a bright red bag. When he set the bag on the ground, he unzipped the top, reached in and grabbed a black case, opening it up and producing and long, slender, needle.

* * * * * *

_LOOK WHAT THEY’RE DOING. YOU DESERVE THIS. ALL OF IT. POISON, ITS POISON. YOUR POISON. WORTHLESS SCUM._ I contorted and squirmed my body to try and free myself from the cop’s grasp. _PIG._ "Pig!” I screamed, “you fucking pig!” Pain was erupting in my head from smashing it against the pavement so many times. A warm sensation tickled the back of my neck, must’ve finally cracked open my head. The skin on my elbows were being scraped bloody against the pavement. A man approached me with a huge fucking syringe filled with a clear liquid. My chest constricted, making my gasp for breaths. I've always fucking hated needles. I knew death himself was perched on top of my lungs, his breath hot and rancid against my face.

“Young man, if you don’t stop moving this is going to hurt hell of a lot worse than it has to,” an officer looming above my head grunted. I looked up at the sky, at the blue and the fluffy clouds. Ian was still yelling in the background, and a single tear dripped out of the corner of my eye. My time here is done. I want to be in the sky instead. Soon I will. A sharp pain pricked my arm, and a slow burn followed. But soon I won’t have to feel pain, because hopefully I will be dead. A contentment engulfed me, I stopped kicking my feet, I ceased throwing my head back onto the pavement, and my shoulders sagged in defeat. I felt my heart begin to beat slower, my pulse going down, my eyes fluttering closed. _Go to sleep. You’re not needed anyway._ I didn't care. I wanted to be in the sky. I heaved out one last breath, darkness consuming me as I slipped into sleep. 

* * * * * *

“Sir, do you need medical attention?” a paramedic pressed, getting up close into my face to communicate through to me as I was completely hysterical at the moment.

“Fuck off! Fuck you!” I screamed. I was absolutely traumatized. I watched helplessly as the paramedics lifted my boyfriend’s lifeless body onto a stretcher and rolled him into the ambulance, no telling where they are taking him or when I could see him again. I already missed him. Ignoring my fling of insults and screams, a doctor holding a clipboard bombarded me with questions regarding Mickey, and a phone number to contact me with. Thank fuck he finally told me they were taking Mickey to St. Mary’s Psychiatric Hospital, and they’d let me know when I could see him. I shook my head and tangled my hands into my hair, the paramedics finally walking back to the ambulance. I sobbed as they drove off, and I was left alone in the street.

The rest of the day I lied in bed, crying myself back to sleep every time I awoke. Calling Mandy hadn't been any easier, hearing her wailing over the line. I've never felt so numb and lost. All I wanted was black hair and electric blue eyes, a sarcastic comment and the smell of south side wherever he went, the smell of home. I clutched the old flip phone against my chest at all times when I slept, and carried it within reach every second of the day, just waiting for it to ring. It was as though someone had actually ripped out my heart and carried it off to god knows where. Because that’s exactly what they did. And tragically, that was the moment when I knew I loved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave comments! They make me smile like a dork!


	11. Chapter 11

The next time I regained consciousness, I was defiantly not in the sky. Instead, I was in a blank room, everything was white. My wrought iron bed, the walls, my own clothes were fucking white. I had a bitchin’ headache, and I groaned, resting my hand on my throbbing head. Oh god, what is it I've done now? Whatever it was, this is some weird ass correctional facility. I pulled myself up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, and shuffled over to the thick white door, wrapping my hand around the cold metal handle. I timidly poked my head out, looking down both ends of the hallway before creeping out of the room. Other people, who looked much more pleasant and put together than me, leisurely strolled up and down the hallway. _Hell._ Is it hell? You know, I think I’m going to explore. Going to go explore hell if what my friends say is true. The hallways were confusing, if it weren't for the various abstract paintings scattered along the walls, I would have easily lost my way. I had so many burning questions, I needed to find a help desk, a staff member, fucking anyone! Some of the other folks smiled cheekily at me, and I tried to look as menacing as possible, I trusted no one. If anything, I wanted to be left completely alone. Just like an injured animal, who growls at anything that approaches it. But at the same time, I needed someone, I wanted to be comforted. Fuck it I want a hug. I’m not in south side anymore am I?

“Mr. Milkovich!” a friendly voice exclaimed in surprise. It was a nurse in a white lab coat, flying quickly down the hallway on her long, panty house covered legs. Oh my god where am I? She scurried over to me and smiled real falsely, obviously I was an inconvenience for her. “Sugar, you’re not supposed to be wandering around down here.” Sugar? 

“Fake bitch. Don’t listen to her Mickey,” Missy Kill appeared beside me and crossed her arms.

“Come with me handsome,” she chirped, and grabbed my arm firmly, practically dragging me back to my room. She threw open the door and hauled me in.

“Go on, sit on the bed, and just hang out for a moment.”

Hang out? Does she think this is a fucking joke? She fished out a compact walkie-talkie from her coat, asking into the device for assistance in Ward A, room 376. A ward? Like- like a _psych_ ward? I’m never going to get out of here. The nurse let out a huff and sat down on a metal chair in the corner of the small room.

“Where am I?” I ask, and if it weren't for the fear I felt in the pit of my stomach, I would've been a lot harsher. I knew if I was a dick, I’d never get answers. I’m not in south side anymore, my usual ways won’t fly here. Even I knew that.

“St. Mary’s Psychiatric hospital. Don’t fret, we’ll fix you right up,” she said distractedly, scribbling on her clipboard. 

I frowned and crossed my arms at her language choice, “I don't need fucking "fixing". When can I leave?” I spit out boldly.

“Inconclusive. That all depends on you.”

“The hell does that even mean? I’m not in the mood for riddles.”

“Wow, they did say you were from south side, but you are even ruder than I had imagined,” she rolled her eyes. Stuck up rich bitch. I sigh and close my eyes, running my hands over my face.

“I need to see my, um, family,” I mutter.

“They’ll be contacted when you’re available for visiting,” she responded, standing up when a lady waltzed in through the door, shaking the nurse’s hand. She looks at me and beams, outstretching her hand for me to shake. I look at it, then look at her, and do nothing. She awkwardly drops her hand and states:

“Well, we've got a stubborn one. I’m Dr. Grayson, and we will be working together Mickey.”

I raise an eyebrow, she looked like high authority with neatly cropped, shoulder length grey hair wearing black slacks and a white lab coat with an identification badge clipped to the breast pocket. She explained to me that I am "sick", and they’re all going to help me. That’s bullshit, because I’m fine. 400 nodded in agreement as she perched on the iron bed frame next to me. I’m fine. Dr. Grayson also explained the rules and regulations of this place; that I need to take my prescribed medication and all that shit. I wasn't really paying attention, I just wanted to get out of the goddamn room. I just nodded along until her spiel was over and the two women finally left the room. I was allowed to meander around now, but I chose not to. I chose to curl up and wallow around my own self-pity. _Poor Mickey. When will he catch a break?_ They snickered, and I tried to be brave. I had to show them I was unfazed.

The next couple of days consisted of the same schedule I was forced to follow to a T. Breakfast, therapy, visiting hours, lunch with a side of pills, rec time, group therapy, fuck I hated that, Dinner, and lights out. Over and Over again until god knows when. For most people, visiting hours were the best time of the day, full of beaming faces and choked cries of laughter as patients hugged their dearly missed family members. And I got to watch the mocking scene as nurses pulled me away to some gloomy depth of the building every goddamn time. Instead, I got to have physical examinations for the past four consecutive days. And while I normally like having fingers shoved up my ass, I got no pleasure from some wrinkly old fogie in blue surgical gloves. I miss Ian. I really do. I hate being so isolated all the time, and all these doctors poking and prodding at my body made me feel so violated. I always walk out of the examination room ashamed and uncomfortable, only to go to therapy and feel emotionally ashamed and uncomfortable. This wasn't fucking helping at all. I wanted Ian.

I sat on my bed, back against the wall with my legs pulled up close to my chest, my arms resting on my knees as I bury my face into the crook of my elbow. Somehow it always made me feel somewhat relaxed to block out the world. I was done with examinations, and was now officially stripped of my reputation and pride. I will also be spending visiting hours alone again. _All alone. Everyone hates you. Just die._

I heard the door creak open, and I didn't bother looking up, probably just a nurse doing her daily rounds to make sure I haven’t killed myself yet.

“Mr. Milkovich? You have a visitor,” a muffled voice announces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter is the thirteenth, just a heads up! And chapters will be posted Wednesdays and Saturdays again now that school's started.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit of a nice break from everything that's been going on, thanks for hanging in there guys!

I could given myself whip lash by fast my head flew up to see Ian there, a goofy, lopsided grin plastered on his face. The nurse smiled and quietly clicked the door closed in the background. Despite the smile, he looked like shit. Mused hair and dark sunken eyes from too many sleepless nights. I've come too familiar with the particular look. But fuck I couldn't care less. I flung myself at him, shoving my mouth on his while my hands ran through his hair. I relished the feel of his arms circling my back and pulling me closer. I never realized how much I had been craving human contact. We finally pulled away and Ian chuckled:

“Hi, Mick.”

I wasn't even able to formulate words at how good I felt right now. How happy I was to see him.

“Y-you actually came,” I whispered, astonished.

Ian look taken aback, “Of course I did. Mickey, why did you think I wouldn't?”

I shook my head, and took his hand, leading him to my bed. He sits down, leaning against the wall as I had been earlier, and I crawled on adjacent to him, snuggling up to him. Ian wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and I buried my face in his neck, closing my eyes and taking in the scent of peppermint and a bit of nicotine. He smelled so good. He filled me in on what had been happening back at home, and I told him how shitty of a place this was, I much I wished to come home.

“Mickey,” he huffed, grabbing my waist to sit me up and turn me to face him him. I met his vibrant green eyes and was immediately in a trance. Versus Ian's view of my cold, dead, blue ones. “We need to talk.” I swallow thickly, growing more anxious by the second. _Of course you fucked up. You always fuck up._

“. . . why didn't you tell me?” he choked, taking my hands in his, “you could hurt yourself, or someone else.” I hung my head, how was I supposed to answer that? Why didn't I tell him?

“I . . . I just . . .” I stalled, scrambling for the words. Ian looked at me expectantly, and I forced myself to continue before I screwed up even more.

“I don’t fucking know, ok? So many things were going on, I didn't want to freak you out,” I blurt exasperated, as a knock came to the door. I shifted uncomfortably and scooted slightly away from Ian, since I’m dangerous and could hurt people.

“Come in,” Ian sighed, casting a side glance towards me.

* * * * * *

“Apologies for interrupting. I just wanted to take advantage of this ideal opportunity to talk to you specifically Mr. Gallagher,” a tall woman in a lab coat and black slacks announces, pulling the metal chair closer to the bed where Mickey and I were sitting. “Mickey, you need to hurry on to therapy now,” she leaned in and spoke to him in a soft voice.

Mickey rolled his eyes, “god, why?” The woman lowered her head and raised her eyebrows, she had a sort of intimidating factor to her. She was almost too calm, and could probably make anyone do anything she wanted. “Whatever,” he spat, pushing himself off the bed and stomping out the door. She must have a real high authority to get even Mick to do as she asked.

“Hello, I am Dr. Grayson, Mickey’s psychiatrist, and I feel now is the right time to send Mr. Milkovich home, as well as explain some things to you. And you are Mickey’s partner, Mr. Gallagher, correct?”

I nod slowly, “Yea, call me Ian.” 

“Alright Ian, so I’m going to throw a lot of information at you all at once, if you have any questions or confusions, please feel free to stop me to explain,” she rifled through a folder filled with a stack of paper, clearing her throat before she began:  
“Mickey has a severe mental disorder known as Paranoid Schizophrenia. Symptoms include: visual and auditory hallucinations, delusions, lack of emotion, lack of expression, sudden changes in mood and increased hostility, difficulty maintaining or creating relationships, disorganized speech, abnormal motor behavior, irritability or depression, trouble sleeping, decreased sexual desire, and psychosis, which is a detachment from reality and quite serious. Now, Schizophrenia cannot go unmediated, however the disorder itself is not life threatening. Mr. Milkovich will be on prescribed medication to decrease the harshness of his symptoms and further increase his quality of life in the long run. How are we doing so far?”

I stared at her. How am I doing? Hell, is this even real? I struggled to wrap my head around all that, it was hard to even understand. I eventually nod my head slowly. Might as well have her keep going, because this is going to take some time.

“Great. Another thing to keep in mind is that he will have to come in occasionally for therapy, only every other month for now, but later on we can see him every few months when he, as well as his family, adjusts to everything.”

I suddenly felt horrified. Torturous memories emerged of when Mickey was raped, when I left for the army, gave him that ultimatum at the bar, forcing him out of the closet, even when he lost his mom when he was young to just simply living with Terry; was this our fault? Mine and his family’s? My breath hitched, I already felt guilty.

“Was this, did we . . . did we do this to him?” I stammered.

“Oh goodness no. Believe me I cannot not even begin to tell you how many families get this kind of shocking news and pin it upon themselves. It isn't your fault, Schizophrenia is mainly genetic, however, we don't have much on Mickey's family's medical history, or records of any disturbances in his mother's pregnancy or delivery. He's not too keen on opening up to us or letting anyone help him.”

I ran my hands through my hair and took a deep breath. That's Mickey for you, majorly underestimating his own abilities of independence. I guess I was glad in the end. Mickey doesn't have to be tortured anymore, but I still hate the fact he suffered all this time in silence. No one needs to go through that. He needs to come home, where he belongs. How can anyone be happy locked up in here? All I want is for him to be happy.

“You mentioned he is ready to come home?”

“Oh, right. Yes, Nurse Matthews will come in shortly to give you Mickey’s medication. It’s a two month supply of his anti-depressants and anti-psychotics. We’ll refill his prescription when he comes in for therapy every other month. I’ll send him back here and once you get the medication you can leave. Have a good day, Ian. If you have any questions, be sure to call us,” Dr. Grayson smiled and outstretched her hand.

“Ok. Thank you,” I smile, shaking Grayson’s outstretched hand. When she left the room, I was left alone on the bed. Looking around the room, I tried to gather what it was like for Mickey. It was damn cold, and so lonely. Just being surrounded by white walls, not knowing when, or if, you came home. I grabbed his pillow, shoving my face in it and taking a deep breath. It smelled like stale cigarettes and woodsy shampoo. Fuck, it smelled like Mickey. I stayed like that for a while, but threw the pillow back down when I heard the door open to see Mickey walk in.

“Let’s get out of here I’m fucking sick of this place,” meaning to sound pissed, but he had a giant smile bloom across his face. I missed that smile. It infected my face as I stood and followed him out of the room.

As we drove back to south side in Kevin’s truck, I decide to tell Mick what Dr. Grayson told me. He kept his eyes on the horizon and picked at his nails as I spoke. He didn't bother to comment, and I didn't stay on the topic, just told him enough so that I wasn't keeping secrets. We ended up in mindless banter the entire way home, arguing abut sports and movies, leaving St. Mary’s in the rear view mirror.

* * * * * *

Ian pulled up to the Gallagher’s house, and I never thought I’d say this, but I missed the old ghetto. Ian killed the truck and I scoffed, “I still live here?”

“You wanna go back to your house?” Ian laughed.

“Didn't say that,” I replied, swinging open the car door and stepping out.

The Gallagher house was surprisingly vacant and tranquil, being mid-day everyone was probably out getting on with their lives of stealing and booze. Ian shut the door behind me, throwing the car keys onto the kitchen table. I smiled mischievously, I was so, so horny. It came out of nowhere, and I had no problem giving in to it. I spun around and grabbed at Ian’s jacket, his eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“How about you help me get out of these stupid fucking clothes?” I whisper seductively in his ear.

“Shit Mick. Are you sure?” he asked uncertainly.

I rolled my eyes and began yanking him up the stairs, “since when was I never sure?” I shoved open Lip’s old bedroom door, and turned to Ian, backing into the room. He grinned and shut the door behind us. Ian moved to my mouth, kissing me slow and passionately. I reached up and pulled his jacket off, shoving my hands up his shirt and feeling every muscle. Ian reached into the hem of my shirt and wrapped his hands around the small of my back. His tongue slid across my bottom lip, seeking entrance. I parted my lips, and he stuck his tongue in my mouth, sliding it against mine. He tugged on my white T-shirt and we broke apart, just long enough for me to hold my arms up so he could pull the shirt over my head. I shuddered at the sudden coolness of the surrounding air, and pressed closer to Ian to gain warmth. _Fucking whore. That’s as good as you’ll ever be._ I kissed Ian even harder, gripping the sides of his face, my mouth sliding over his roughly and desperately. He pulled away and began to tug away his shirt, I gladly assisted in pushing it up over his head. I smiled against Ian’s mouth, thoroughly pleased at my long lost erection. My fingers fumbled with his belt, forcefully yanking it free and flinging it to the floor, then moving onto his jeans. Ian’s hands groped my ass through my white cotton pants, and I panted against his mouth as I yanked his jeans to the ground, and he stepped out of them. Out of nowhere, Ian scooped me up, one hand holding my ass and the other on my back. I wrapped my legs around his waist as we continued to passionately kiss, and Ian moved us over to the bed where he laid me down. He climbed on top of me and grabbed hold of the elastic waistband embedded into my pants, pulling them down to my ankles and then tossing them onto the floor. Ian loomed over me, looking into my lust filled eyes with his own. He dropped his head to nip at the skin on my collar bone, then began sucking a mark into the hurt flesh. He ran his hands down my sides to the waistband of my white boxers, everything had to be fuckin’ white in that place. With a final tug, he yanked away my boxers, throwing them to the floor before rolling over and ripping off his. I heard our bedside drawer open, only to assume he was grabbing a condom and the bottle of lube. He fingered me for a while, slowly stretching me out since the last time we had sex was so long ago, holding my hand and kissing me as he did so. I took a deep breath when he entered me slowly, squeezing my eyes closed, welcoming the familiar burn and soon the intense pleasure.

“Am I hurting you?” Ian whispered against my mouth, aiming to sound sexy but his voice was cloaked in concern.

“No. . . Fuck, keep going!” I gasped. Ian grinned at my inability to speak and moved his hips faster, gathering a steady rhythm back and forth. He angled his hips to hit the spot he knew full well sent me into a shaking mess of ecstasy. I brought my legs up to wrap around his waist, getting impossibly closer, running my hands through his fire red hair, groaning as he to kissed my jawline. I missed this so goddamn much. I admit the boy knew how to fuck. We rode out our orgasms clutching to each other and furiously attacking each other’s mouths to muffle our moans. We dressed and went back downstairs, watching TV and enjoying each other’s company. I was glad to be home. Did I just call this place my home? Shit, I guess it was. It felt as though I had never left, had never gone mentally AWOL, but I guess that was when the reality of my disorder hadn't truly set in yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Answers! And sorry, not much of a smut writer. I like too leave too many things to the imagination.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Series finale! This chapter is more than three times longer than usual, so enjoy!  
>  _italics_ are flashbacks as well as Mickey's voices.

Bright gleams of sunlight shone through the window, glaring among clear blue skies. The birds were chirping obnoxiously and a hot redhead was laying next to me, quietly snoring away peacefully. And yet I still mange to think my life was shit. I guess nothing was as it used to, and I despised change. It was only a month ago when I had first come home from the hospital and had passionate sex with Ian. I found myself clinging to that memory every day, thinking it could bring some sort comfort or closure. I had to cope with the fact nothing was going to be the same ever again. I sat at the Gallagher’s kitchen table, slowly nibbling away at my toast while Ian put his dishes into the sink, before dashing up the stairs. Curious, I got up, trashed the rest of my food, and threw my plates into the sink with a clatter before running up after Ian. He was in our room, clawing through the dresser.

“Watcha doin’?” I smirked from the doorway. Ian twisted around to look at me and smiled, running his hand through his flaming hair.

“Kev’s birthday? At the Alibi?” he tried, slipping his shirt off and putting on a grey striped sweater in place of it. I searched around in my head for a moment, trying to jog my memory- oh shit.

“Oh, forgot,” I stated, “Throw me a shirt, will ya?”

He threw me a navy blue t-shirt over his shoulder, and I reached up and caught it in mid-air.

“Wear a jacket over that, yea? It’s cold,” he chuckled, and I rolled my eyes. Ian moved to a bottom drawer, pulling out some dark jeans. I smiled lazily at his back as he pulled down his flannel pants and slipped into his boxers and jeans. I silently gave my thanks for this seemingly normal and simple moment in time. I don't take anything for granted anymore.

“Hurry up Mick, we don’t have time for primping,” he laughed as he slid past me through the door. I playfully smacked him on the shoulder and laughed along, and I wished that joy would stay for just a little longer.

Ian had no problem hitting it off with the other party goers, and I sat awkwardly at the bar. I was all alone, actually. Everyone else was dancing and grinding against each other on the dance floor. I watched Ian move so freely and carelessly with Mandy, smiling and occasionally laughing at one of her dumb jokes. That’s how he should be. Now that I was obviously out of the way, everyone seemed to be having a swell fucking time. Worst part is I can’t even drink to numb the pain anymore, apparently it screws with the medication. I gazed back at my coke, the liquid black like tar, sticking to the lining of your throat, choking you to death after a single sip. I pushed the glass back in disgust, and glanced back at the dance floor, searching for Ian but he was gone. My eyes skirted across the crowd until I saw him off to the side with an attractive blonde, grinning and nodding at him. Mandy was next to Ian, making useless attempts at butting into the conversation, but the other man was infatuated with Ian, and Ian only. _Always being replaced._ My breath hitched in my throat, and I felt my eyes get misty. Stepping back from the bar, I turned to head outside for some fresh air, and a jog home. 

I broke open the front door to the Gallagher’s, and thank god I’m alone, because I’m sure they would've sent me right back to St. Mary’s.

“Why the fuck can’t you just leave me alone?!” I screamed. “For one goddamn time can’t I just enjoy life?!” My body temperature shot up, making me rip off my coat. I then paused, and looked at the ceiling, looked at God, if he’s even there. If he even exists. “Why can’t you give me a fucking break?!” I balled my fists into my hair, pacing the kitchen. Not even five minutes later Ian busted through the door, rushing over to me. I put my hand up and stepped away, I swear to god the next person who attempts to coddle me-

“Stay the hell away from me Ian!” I warn.

He put his hands up in defense, backing up a few steps to give me breathing room. He knew this dance, it wasn't the first time.

“Mickey,” he started in a calm and measured tone, “what’s going on?”

_I nervously fidgeted with my hands. I should be excited to see Mandy again after coming home, but I was plagued with uncertainty._

_“It’ll be fine,” Ian reassured, taking my hand as we waited for Mandy to answer the door. There were a few thumps and a curse inside the house, indicating she was at the door. It flew open and Mandy stood in the threshold grinning from ear to ear._

_“Ian!” she gasped, “Oh my god!” she flung herself forward and hugged Ian tight, breaking our connecting hands as he wrapped his arms around her small frame. I stared at my feet like an awkward third wheel._

_“And. . . Mickey, good to see you,” she smiled. I looked up at her through my eyelashes, and she reached out for a hug, then pulled back an inch, and changed her action to a small shoulder rub. My eyebrows knit together with confusion. Was she. . . _afraid_ of me? Or thought maybe even the slightest touch would shatter me? Now that I think about it, Ian’s been doin’ that shit too. All contact was small pats and fucking holding hands, as he only muttered soothing words into my ear. I was not raised like this, and I defiantly don’t need to be pampered. In fact, it made me pretty damn pissed off._

I scoffed at Ian, “See! You’re doing it again!”

Ian shook has head, “I-I-I don’t know-“

“Stop treating me like I’m gonna break! And stop tailing me around afraid like my only two options in life are homicide or suicide!”

Ian’s eyes widened, “Mick-“ he whispered

“No, no, don’t talk to me that way! Don’t treat me like a kicked puppy, I've made it this far by myself, haven’t I?” I yelled. Inhaling a deep breath, I huffed: “I want- I _need_ \- you to fucking touch me!” My chest heaved as I breathed rapidly, testing out the feeling of being able to breathe without this huge pressure on my chest. It’s all out there now, well, not all of it. But, it’s a start. Ian nodded slowly, gazing at the ground. Then he looked up at me, and I stared back at him. That’s when he surged forward and attacked my lips. I couldn't help but smirk as my kink with manhandling was fulfilled, gripping onto Ian’s hair as I stuck my tongue in his mouth. Our breathing was labored as he pushed me up against the kitchen counter, caging me to provide no escape as he felt me up. I swept my tongue across his front teeth, and in return, he bit down on my bottom lip. The flesh was already weakened with all the gnawing of my own, so it easily broke and drops of blood pricked at the surface. I groaned as Ian ran his tongue across the hurt lip, licking up every bit of blood. I pulled away and clawed at his shirt, he assisted and pulled it off as I yanked mine up over my head. I fumbled with Ian’s belt as he put his hands on my hips and pushed me back towards the kitchen table. Ian picked me up and lifted me onto the table. The wood was painful on my spine, however I was in such a carefree testosterone induced daze. Nothing seemed to matter. Ian reached over to unzip my pants, and I lifted my hips so he could slide my pants and boxers off in one smooth motion. There was a pause before I heard a clink emit from the floor I took as Ian’s belt buckle hitting the hard wood, and I gripped the side of the table in lustful anticipation. Ian grabbed my calves and moved my legs to rest on his shoulders, then made eye contact with me as he spit in his hand. Preparation time was short as we were both eager for Ian to start roughly thrusting into me, the table creaking as we fucked mercilessly. _Dirty fucking whore._

_Mandy cringed as she heard the foreign word fall from Ian’s mouth._

_“Schizo what?” she spat, looking at me. Oh god. I adverted my eyes to the floor, bowing my head in shame. This was mortifying._

_“Schizophrenia,” Ian whispered in a low voice. The predator finally has a name. Everyone was staring at me, Ian, Mandy, fucking hell, even the prissy little shit who calls himself a man just hiding in shadows all damn day. I looked up and sneered at all of them._

_“Take a picture it’ll last longer,” I chided. Mandy shook her head, running her hand over her face._

_“Mickey, what-what is wrong with you? Is it something I said?” her voice wavered. I was stunned. My eyes widened in shock, she’s blaming this on herself? God love my sister, always craving that attention, especially when it was taken off of her._

_“Mandy it’s nothing we did,” Ian chimed in, “It just . . . was all his fault,”_

_My head whipped toward him, “No it’s fucking not, I didn't ask for any of this!” I say in a low, dead, tone. How dare he, how dare-_

_“What? Mickey what are you talking about?”_

_“You just fucking said-“ I started, when I noticed the shadow boy snickering in the corner. Mandy knit her eyebrows together, and twisted around to look at the corner of the living room where my gaze was fixed. I bent over and put my head in my hands to avoid looking at anyone. How are they still able to trick me like that? Why is that even necessary?_

_“Ian, I don’t- I don’t get it?” Mandy questioned. I felt Ian’s hand reach over and rub reassuring circles on my knee._

_“He’s hallucinating,” Ian’s voice cracked the slightest bit._

January. God I fuckin' hate January. It’s constantly freezing balls outside, boring, and more people are crowding inside the Gallagher house. The walls are closing in and god forbid your claustrophobic. Or a walking exhibit people feed their own curiosity with, or solely entertainment, wondering what “funny thing Manic Mick is gonna do”. That’s my official pet name in south side, because word travels fast when life fucks you in the ass as hard as it has to me. I’m sure as hell not a notorious ghetto thug people just soil their pants as I simply pass by anymore. I’m Manic Mick, raised by a drunk, abusive father, a pitiful tragedy from childhood, a raging homosexual living in the fucking south side of Chicago, and now psychotic. They give me sympathy, as if I’m the only person in south side that has a fucking mental disorder. I laugh and shake my head as I complete arranging my pills in a tidy line, choking them down one by one like a deranged buffet.

“Manic Mick,” I grin and swallow a pill, “Manic Mick, Manic Mick. . .” I mutter under my breath as each pill is consumed. _Psycho. Skinny twig. Could snap you in half._ I stare at myself in the mirror as they pick apart my flaws, I guess the dosages will have to change- again. 

_“Medicine isn't a perfect art. In fact, it’s one big guessing game. Trial and error. We just have to keep trying until the medication and dosages work for you specifically,” Dr. Grayson smiled, nodding her head towards me, who sat on a slick leather sofa. She probably took my case just because I’m not your finely prestige north side norm. She’s fucking bored. She doesn't give a shit about me. When Ian and I arrived home from my first therapy session, the Gallagher’s were just sitting down for lunch. Here we go again._

_“Hey boys, you hungry?” Fiona smiled from the kitchen, rushing around to prepare food for everyone. I looked down at the table, plates of sandwiches were scattered around. I almost gagged right there. Fucking sandwiches. Defiantly wasn't hungry, and I sure as hell didn't feel like choking on plain, spongy bread. Please let me pass. For once. I decide to test my luck._

_“Starving,” Ian pulled a chair out and sat down, kicking out one beside him with his foot for me._

_“Not hungry,” I state nonchalantly as I sit down, aiming to come across as casual. Ian furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head, looking over at me._

_“When did you last eat?”_

_I shrugged, “this morning.”_

_“That was six hours ago,” Debbie spat in her new-found teenage sarcasm._

_“You’re eating Mickey,” Fiona ordered as she rushed over from behind the counter, slamming a pate down in front of me. I scowl at the rectangle, looks like I’ll have to choke this shit down like everything else just to get these people off my ass._

I pinched at my arms, lifted my dirty t-shirt to reveal my ribs subtly poking out of my skin. I hate myself. I hate life. I hate this shit I have to live with. And I will never admit that I am depressed because I don’t need more shit for people to worry about, I’m already down to just some scrawny Schizo. I flick out the light and shuffle back out to Ian and I’s room. He was already under the covers, propped up against the headboard with a stolen Stephen King novel in his grip. He looks up and smiles.

“Hey beautiful,” he chuckles. I roll my eyes and scoff. Yea right, the lamp glowing fluorescent light beside Ian is probably casting horrifying shadows on my face, making me look even thinner and more sullen.

“Fuck off,” I smirk, and ease into bed, pulling the covers up close to my shoulders. Ian’s hair was glowing, literally it looked like it was made with actual copper thread. He was toned, and even through the fucking winter he manged to stay muscular. Why would he want such a sickly asshole like me? I don’t think I’ll ever understand. Curled up in the fetal position I was in now, I felt so small and . . . _Insignificant_ , compared to the world. I can’t keep up, life’s not gonna wait for me anymore. The world will just keep spinning. Natural selection 101, the weak and useless die off to create a better, more enhanced population. I've always remembered that one lesson from high school for some reason. One hell of a sick omen to put onto a person. Ian reached over to flick out the lamp, scooting to lay down, facing towards me. I was so lost in thought I didn't even realize Ian was craning his neck to press his lips against my forehead. I flinched at first, startled, and then relaxed after a big sigh.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Ian spoke softly.

“Careful what you wish for,” I retort, closing my eyes.

I wish I could say I felt even remotely better after Ian had quit his job at FairyTale a week later, but, surprise! I didn't. There wasn't a single reason for me to mope around every minute of the day. But now they've convinced me that Ian is cheating, he’s only quitting his job at FairyTale to get me off his trail. But I know. And I’m not even angry. Hell I’m fucking empathetic, I wouldn't honestly want me either. Don’t know how- or why- Ian’s even gone this long. I sat on our bed, preparing to sleep alone on a Saturday night. Some of Ian’s hooker friends are throwing him a going away party, maybe even throw a couple good fucks in too. My eyes were fixated on my feet, planted on the dark blue carpet. At least they have each other. _No one wants you. You don’t even want yourself. Why aren't you good enough? God, you’re pathetic._ All. the. fucking. time. Not this, don’t do that, why aren't you this. Insults, insults, and more insults. I’m tired, and I’m done. I’ll admit now that I am defeated. They win. I stare up at Ian, digging through mounds of clothes for something even remotely clean. 

“Side effects. . . lack of feeling, no emotion, flat-effect,” Dr. Grayson had explained my lack to even be able to control my own goddamn face. A lump formed in my through, my eyes got misty. Six months, It’s been six months and I haven’t even shed a single tear. And it wasn't even because I was brave, they made me unable to express my emotions and I had cowered. I closed my eyes to control the tears. I will not ruin another aspect of Ian’s life. He turned around, and I jerked my head to the side, avoiding his gaze so he couldn't detect my glassy eyes.

“Mickey?” He walked closer to me, reaching out to place his hand on my shoulder. _Gonna kill him idiot. Your poison._

“Ian, don’t,” I choke. Oh fuck. Failure, my field of expertise. I could tell Ian’s alarmed from the heavy silence that’s currently suffocating the room. I did not cry. Not when I was shot, or pistol whipped, not because of some blunt fuck from the bar or from when I was raped. No one’s ever seen me cry, much less Ian. The mattress dipped next me from his weight settling next to me.

“Mickey look at me. We’re going to talk.”

Well, he’s not going away. Might as well go with it. I forced my head to twist around and face Ian. He put his hand on my thigh, rubbing it slowly against the fabric of my jeans.

“Please tell me what’s wrong. You don’t deserve to suffer, Mickey,” he cooed. I stared at the floor, trying to articulate the words.

“I know I’m not worth going head over heels for, I wasn't even remotely attractive to start and I sure as hell am not now. I understand if you don’t want me,” I give a dry chuckle, “I don’t even like me. Just please tell me now. I promise I won’t be mad. Just say your with someone else a-and I’ll leave. You’ll never see me again.” My eyes well up with tears as I spoke. I couldn't even imagine a life without Ian, he’s the reason for all I've worked for. Probably the reason I’m even still alive. He stared at me, dumb founded.

“Mickey I would never, ever cheat on you. Who said that to you?”

“They did.”

“You still hear voices?”

Tears are falling down my cheeks, and Ian would wipe them away with the pad of his thumb. 

“I don’t know how to make them stop. I try do to what they say. They say I'm too fat, I starve myself to get skinny. Then they joke about snapping me like a twig. My eyes are blackened and dead from sleep deprivation, and they keep me up all night screaming and taunting. They tell me I kill everyone I touch, so I isolate myself so I don’t hurt anyone, and then I'm some worthless loner. They always laugh at me! I just want them to stop!” I throw my arms around Ian’s neck and bawl into his shirt collar, my entire body shaking. He holds me tight and rubs my back.

“Oh my god. . . I-I had no idea. . .” Ian mumbled still fazed from my confession.

“I wanted to kill myself, but they said that was weak and cowardly. So I-I," unable to finish, I stammered until I eventually gave up and went silent.

“What did you do Mickey?” Ian whispers, tension straining his voice.

“A switchblade. My hobby was sitting in the dark and running it across my wrist until I was satisfied with how much I had mutilated myself. I wanted to punish myself. Terry always did when I had ruined everything.”

Ian stiffened, probably connecting the dots as to why I've always kept my arms covered and out of sight.

“This is hell, Ian. I don’t want to fucking live anymore.”

Ian grabbed onto my shoulders and pulled me back, looking me dead on in the eye. Completely ignoring my red face stained with tear tracks. My hysterics now reduced to sniffles.

“Listen to me right now Mickey. We are going to figure this out. We will fight this together. We’re going to be together forever. We’ll adopt children, and then have grandchildren. You're going to grow old with me and when you've lived life to the fullest, you're going to die surrounded by people that love you,” Ian’s voice wavered a few times, but he’s made sure he’s kept calm and collected for my sake. He leaned in to kiss me, the gentle and loving kind that wasn't too common in our relationship. The second I thought I was done crying, I quickly burst into sobs once again. We held each other tight, staying in a comfortable silence, basking in each other’s company and warmth. Moments later I slowly cracked open my eyes and lifted my head from where it was buried in Ian’s shirt to peer over his shoulder at the small analog clock on the dresser. He was now fifteen minutes late the party, plus drive time.

“Oh shit Ian,” I begin to pull away, wiping my eyes with the back of my sleeve. “You’re late to the party.” Ian didn't reply right away, just pulled me back against him and nuzzled his nose into my hair.

“Fuck ‘em,” he mumbled contently, “Fuck ‘em . . .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End! Hope this was a satisfactory ending for you guys! Thank you so much for all the support you've given me throughout this story, I really appreciate it and it really means so much! I defiantly enjoyed writing this, and I hope to do more fics in the future. If you have any prompts or idea please message me on tumblr (alxmariejackles) or comment. Have a lovely time and enjoy every single day!


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